Meg
by Anna Lane
Summary: The summer after Veronica finds Lilly's murderer, she has to deal with loving more than one person, loving the wrong person, and always, always, it seems, losing the people she cares most for.


I didn't like her. Not like that. How could I possibly? Her face was too long. Her cheekbones were just a little too pronounced, and her lips were _too _pouty. Her hair was too perfect and she was too tall. Her nose was turned up so that she almost looked like a rabbit. Or a bunny, a cute little—no! Not like a cute bunny at all, more like an annoying rabbit. Like Roger Rabbit. So innocent and unsuspecting. How could she not notice, not suspect? She must be stupid and naïve, to boot. And worst, worst of all, she loved Duncan, and he loved her. No, that wasn't even the worst part. It was that she was always so goddamned nice. It's harder to hate people who're one of the ones never to have actually done something bad to you, like most of the other people had in this town.

No, I, Veronica, have no idea how I developed feelings for Meg, much less how Meg hasn't noticed yet. Why else would I have helped her with the purity test? Or to find Duncan? When Duncan had his little fit and broke his window, and Meg cried, I was happy. You want to know why? I pretended those tears were for me, for heartbreak at seeing me and Logan together. Don't get me wrong, I know that's a fantasy, borderline delusional really, but it made me smile deep down in my dark heart of hearts.

With Logan, it was easy. Maybe too much so, as time would tell. It was easy to be with him, and just feel. Feel good, feel happy. We aren't together anymore. I couldn't get over what he'd done in the summer. Now Duncan's visiting me every day at the hut. I think I know what's going to happen. How could we not be together again? Being with your first love always feels so right. But I sometimes think about how Meg will react when I see her at school again, and she sees me with _him._

Most of the time I just think of her in general. If she's doing well after their break-up. If her style has changed or her hair has been cut. I haven't seen her once this summer. I hope she hasn't gone off to Italy and fallen in love with some romantic meat-head. Seems like she might have a tendency for that sort of thing. I wish my detective skills could have me dogging her cross-country, just to make sure she's okay, that she hasn't met anyone.

But that's too far, isn't it? Too crazy, too obsessive. I have to get a new hobby, or someone needs to kill my best friend again. That's a horrible thought, I don't know what I'd do if Wallace died, but I've had way too much time to myself. I always thought closure would be peaceful, but so far it's just been boring. And thus, too much free time to dwell on a certain blonde. And it isn't myself. Shame.

She's back, from Belgium or something. Honestly, who goes to Belgium for summer vacation? And she's ignoring me. I can't stand it. She glares when I'm not looking. I wish I could tell her to stop, because her stares are hurting me even more than Logan's are. He hates me doubly. Because I broke up with him, and because I stole his best friend. All in one fell swoop. Damn, I've still got it.

Sometimes I wish I would be able to just tell her she could have Duncan, if it would make her happy. But really, I could never have that. I would go crazy with jealousy. Thinking of her with him. Honestly, I am not sure who I'd be more jealous of, her or him. It should be easier, shouldn't it? I'm so full of myself, wishing everyone would fall over themselves to please me. Duncan, Meg, Logan. Yes, even Logan. I still dream about him.

Maybe I should have stuck with Leo. It would have been easier.

One day, after school, I cornered her. It wasn't so hard. I practically stalked her these days. I knew she stayed late on campus Thursdays for cheer practice. She was always the last to leave. I knew she would walk through the picnic area outside to get to her car. And that's where I would make my move. I swear, all I wanted to do was demand she stop doing this to me, putting me in this situation. I would beg, plead, cry, threaten, whatever it took.

But it didn't happen that way. She'd started yelling at me, telling me things that brought tears to my eyes. And then I noticed she'd started crying, too. I took her in my arms, and I don't know if I knew what I was doing or not, but I didn't mask my motives. I didn't pretend it was a friendly hug. I wrapped an arm around her waist, pressed us together, and used one hand to hold her head still so I could kiss her. She was so surprised, her mouth opened.

I remember it perfectly. Her lips were so soft and sweet, and when my tongue slipped between them, I almost swooned. She tasted good, too, like something sweet. Her body was warm and—squiggling, she tried to get away. I let her; she was stronger, after all. "What are you doing?" She spat, and I almost died. The look on her face, the sound in her voice. She was disgusted.

I told her I couldn't stand it anymore. The dirty looks, the hatred, the sadness that I could have handled from anyone but her. I told her I loved her, that I needed her. She left, she didn't say anything. I didn't know what would happen, but at school the next day it was just the same. There were less looks, but nothing to indicate that any significant thing had happened. A life changing moment for me, and it was nothing for her.

It was like that the next day, and the next, for whoever knows how long.

Then one day broke through the haze for me. She'd surprised me this time. She got me when I was walking from working late on the newspaper, like I do every Monday. She took my arm and pushed me against the wall. I was almost afraid of what she was going to do to me. And that didn't stop, even when she leaned in to kiss me. It was rushed, and forceful on her part. I had never done anything like that, and neither had she, but I could tell she wanted to be in control. She had wanted me to beg, and I had. She was always so rough. Forcing my hands above my head, pulling my hair back to push my head where she wanted it, forcing my legs apart.

It should have been perfect, beautiful. I loved her, and I was so happy when she kissed me, but it wasn't perfect. I knew that even when she loved me most, there was always a part of her that would hate me, and that killed me. Somehow I had turned this sweet innocent thing into something dark, and hurting, one filled with anger and resentment. In a way, I had ruined her. But that made me love her, want her, even more.

This went on for so long. It was spontaneous, and only when she wanted to. We had trouble finding places to meet. She'd text me in the night to sneak into her room—and I always went. How could I not? I felt dead when I left her every time, like she'd drained the life from me, but then it felt like I wasn't living when we weren't together.

Sometimes she asked me to end things with Duncan. She was always so mad when I said no. But I couldn't. I was afraid he'd go to her if I hurt him, and I knew her well enough to know she would take him, and leave me stranded in the cold. I couldn't. I tried to explain, but the right words never came out. Once, after I'd said no, she didn't talk to me for a week.

Not that anyone at school would have noticed. Nothing changed there. She glared at me regularly. He offered to talk to her, but I hastily shot the plan down. I was afraid she would tell if they ever talked. And he might not want me anymore. Everyone thought she still hated me with a passion, and I guess they weren't far off. She still did. When I gave her the Christmas present—a bracelet I'd spent hours debating over—she'd laughed in my face. "Don't pretend this is something it isn't." And I didn't even blame her. How could I? I almost wanted it over more than she did. It was killing me slowly, just having her without actually having her, but it would kill me more to give up what little I did have of her.

It was the day of the fieldtrip, before we'd left when we had our last conversation alone. She'd talked about something she never had before. "Maybe we could all be together?" She said, and I immediately said no. "Just think about it, he's a guy, he would love having us both." She was almost pleading with me. I'd never seen her plead for anything from me, she was always the one who wanted me to be weak and submissive. "Please, Veronica." I shook my head, firm. "I'm pregnant." She blurted out. My mouth fell. "The baby needs a father. He needs Duncan." I looked at her like I'd never seen her before. It felt like I hadn't. I was disgusted, scared, panicked.

"Meg, you don't know what we talk about when we're alone." I told her. And then I lied. I had to. If he ever found out—I knew Duncan. I would be in his rearview and he and Meg would be living happily ever after in their mansion with their new baby and a puppy. "Meg, he hates you. He doesn't want anything to do with you. If you ever told him," I swallowed, guilt momentarily consuming me, "he would make you get an abortion. Him or his dad, you know how ambitious the Kane family is." I took her shoulders and rubbed them. "I can't let you go through that." I tried to hold her, but she pulled away. I'd never seen her so furious. She ran to the bus.

I didn't know she would get so mad at me, refuse a ride on the limo, or leave me at the station on my own. It made the accident easier, knowing she hated me so much. I was determined to get whoever did it, of course, but nothing ever really felt real. Not until the day I saw her at the hospital, her stomach protruding noticeably.

Something inside me broke, and things got all too real, and painful. It affected everything, how we'd left things, the accident that wasn't an accident at all, and even how I felt about Duncan. Before I had to leave her hospital room, I noticed something on her ankle…the bracelet I'd given her. It must have been too big for her wrist. She must have worn it after all, and even been wearing it the day of the accident. It broke my heart all over again, and I knew that I had to do something to fix this. I'd do anything.

And I had. I'd helped Duncan get the baby out of town. They'd called it kidnapping, but it didn't feel like a crime. It felt like the only good decision I'd made in a while. It had killed me watching him go. Part of me wanted to flee with him, and help him raise the child of the woman I had loved. I had to let him go. I had to let them both go.


End file.
